


Before I Knew

by th_esaurus



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Domestic Violence, First Kiss, M/M, Unsettling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-01
Updated: 2016-12-01
Packaged: 2018-09-03 16:07:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8720197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/th_esaurus/pseuds/th_esaurus
Summary: "Mr. Graves—" Credence started, at an easy lull in the conversation. "May I—may I take your arm?""Well," Graves said, his eyebrows raised almost imperceptibly. "Since you asked so charmingly."





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [reserve](https://archiveofourown.org/users/reserve/gifts).



> Reserve asked for something about Credence taking the initiative, so.

Credence had been mistaken for mute and dumb before, and not just once; but he had his own mind, and a voice with which to speak it. He was merely cautious and unworldly.

His sister, Chastity, who was not his real sister at all, was tasked with cutting Credence's hair throughout his teens. She did not care for him, because he was a boy, and Mary-Lou was adamant that boys were not to be trusted, and so she gripped his hair tight in her fist and kept him at arm's length while she snipped roughly at the thick tufts. Credence liked this. He liked how strong her small hand seemed, pulling his scalp tight, the sharp pain a neat distraction from fresh wounds and wandering thoughts.

He kept this to himself.

There was a young man who loitered about the church for a few days one sweltering summer, chewing on a toothpick and watching Credence sweat under his layers as he handed out crumpled pamphlets to bored tourists. He was an ugly boy, a few years older than Credence, with front teeth that overlapped and sallow cheeks, but he grinned often, whenever he caught Credence's eye.

He pinned Credence against an alley wall and said to him, "You got a good mouth. You wanna do some good with that mouth, huh?"

Credence also liked this. But he did not answer and it earned him two slaps and a gob of spit on his chin and neck.

This was another incident Credence did not deign to share.

Graves expected more of him than most. He did not prefer Credence's silence.

"You are doing me a great service," he murmured. "You must tell me what I can do for you in kind."

He had his hand on Credence's jaw as he said it, his thumb just skimming over Credence's skin.

"You are already doing so much—" Credence whispered.

"Nonetheless," Graves smiled.

Credence did not always know how to voice what he wanted; only that he _wanted_.

That night he cupped his prick in his hand, beneath the bed sheets. He did not rut into it, that was not what he cared for: his hand was cold and rough from the hash of scars that mottled his palm. He simply held it, and tried to wonder if he would like it more if it were Graves' warm hands instead.

He thought he might.

He pressed his same hand to his bottom lip.

He walked with Graves sometimes, when Credence had more time and could untether himself from the church. Graves liked to tell him how wizards lived – how Credence might live, once their task was complete – and he did not bother to keep his voice down when he did so. They strolled through Central Park like fond acquaintances while Graves told him stories in a language he barely understood.

Graves had his hands in the pocket of his greatcoat. The crook of his elbow was an invitation.

"Mr. Graves—" Credence started, at an easy lull in the conversation. "May I—may I take your arm?"

"Well," Graves said, his eyebrows raised almost imperceptibly. "Since you asked so charmingly."

Credence hesitated only a moment, and then nestled his hand in that warm crevice, and they walked a while, arm in arm. He realized, then, that he was as tall as Graves, perhaps just a hair shorter. That their mouths lined up very neatly.

He presumed that Graves had kissed a great many people.

Credence had seen people kiss. Young women's affection, their red lips touching each other's cheeks or the corners of their mouths; new wives pecking their husband's lips churlishly, boldly, outside office blocks and freshly swept porches before work; now and then, a couple blind to the world and the disgruntled tuts of old hens, wrapped in each others arms, wrapped in each others mouths.

"Mr. Graves," Credence said, even quieter this time. He stopped for a moment, and Graves stopped with him, kindly. Credence felt very aware of his cracked, dry lips, rough from the cold in his mother's attic. "What if I asked of you something you cannot give?"

"You forget I'm a wizard," Graves smiled. Credence, in fact, was never unaware of this fact. "I can offer things you could not even conceive of."

Credence wanted all of them. All those things he did not know.

But he had been taught, by the Bible and his mother's skill with the belt, not to ask for them aloud.

It was not a busy day: men at their work and women at their lunches. They took a meandering path under a shady bridge and there, there, Credence stopped again. "My boy," Graves murmured. It should have been a question, and felt, instead, like permission.

In the low shadows under the bridge, Credence haltingly pressed his lips to Graves'. His hesitance turned one kiss into three: he could not keep his mouth steady enough to hold it. He was unsure where his hands should go, felt too aware of the jut of his nose, did not know how hard to press on Graves' mouth. He wished Graves would move, but perhaps this was the sum of a kiss: desperate and disappointing.

Some part of him knew there was more to it than this, but he did not have the confidence to guess. Could not help but make a soft, hurt noise when Graves' body surged against him; when Graves' warm tongue burned between his lips and against his own. It was a surprise. That was all.

In the heavy instant when Graves ran his tongue from edge to edge across Credence's raw bottom lip: here, then, was how it felt to sate that unknowable need that had always haunted him.

Graves' wide, hot hands cradled his cheeks, tilted his head, licked inside his mouth: proficient in a way that made Credence's lungs black with jealous breath. He wanted to take back every kiss Graves had ever offered. He wanted—lord, he _wanted—_

And then Graves' grip loosened. He was smiling, a low, honest thing. "I'm loathe to deny you a thing, my dear boy," he murmured, pleased, "But I do so hate flitting about in the shadows."

His mother would miss him.

His mother had a knack for smelling sugar on his breath, if Graves had brought him cakes or sweet bread. She beat him for gluttony first, and thievery second. Would she smell Graves' lips on him just as easily, he wondered.

She would find some excuse regardless. There were so many.

He should leave, Credence thought, silent and careful. But Graves' tongue had pulled the voice out of him now, and it was so awfully hard to stopper.

"Where should we go?" Credence breathed.


End file.
